My good friend John from Seattle and his three sons (ages twelve through eighteen) came over to visit while they had winter break. They were in our town looking at colleges for the oldest and enjoying a bit of vacation — skiing, museums, historical sites. I hadn’t seen John for a couple of years and I was glad that, instead of booking a hotel, he asked to stay with us for the four days they were here. I suppose I should have known, however, that having all that testosterone under one roof would drive Lo wild.
It’s hard to keep Lo’s libido under wraps in the best of circumstances, but fill the house with four male guests, three of whom need to sleep in the living room, and, well, keep on reading.
One of the days that John and the boys were visiting, Lola came home from teaching her night class at the local community college where she has been guest lecturing on sex and sexuality in the Woman’s Studies department. She walked in the door in her knee-high black leather boots with the tall heels and her hip-hugging tight red dress. She looked. . . voluptuous. She said a quick hello and then grabbed a glass of Cabernet and joined us in the living room where the boys were sitting, playing games or texting on their smart phones or iPads, and John and I were quietly talking.
“I’m so disgusted!” Lo began.
“What? What happened? Did class not go well?” I inquired.
“I know it sounds ridiculous for a woman in her twenties to say it, but honestly, kids these days!”
“What happened?” asked John.
The boys turned their attention to Lo. Or, rather, they had looked up from their blue-glowing technology the moment Lo walked in the door and now Lo had their rapt attention. She sat on the couch and said, “Not that many years ago, when I was an undergrad, I wouldn’t have even thought of texting during class. I mean, yes, I would be on my laptop and not always taking notes, but isn’t it a sign of disrespect to openly text during a class?”
“Don’t you have a policy against it or something?” I asked.
“Yes, of course I do! But these two guys in the front row — they are on their phones the whole time. They’re texting and even passing their phones back-and-forth between them. I’ve said something to them privately. I’ve called them out before the whole class. Now I’m done. I’ll just fail them.”
“It would suck to fail at sex,” John quipped.
“You teach about sex?” asked his middle boy.
“It’s more than just sex — it’s about consent, the media, law, intersectionality,” Lo began, but she lost his attention after the word sex.
We talked a bit more and then the boys asked if they could watch some TV. To my great surprise, they wanted to watch “Gilmore Girls” on Netflix.
“Really?” I asked. “That show was popular like twenty years ago.”
“Let’s be real, it never was popular,” said Lo.
“You used to watch it?” I asked.
“So why do you boys want to see it? Isn’t it like a chick-lit show?”
“HH, you’re so gender-conforming. Not everything breaks down easily along gender-roles,” said Lo sarcastically, with a hint of irony in her eyes as she spoke to me.
“Why don’t you let the boys answer?” I shot back.
“Haven’t you heard,” asked one of them, “they’re bringing ‘Gilmore Girls’ back.”
“What?” I asked.
“Yeah, like ‘Arrested Development’ and ‘The X-Files,’ it’s making a comeback on Netflix.”
“Oh.” I said, learning something new, “but that doesn’t explain the appeal to you,” I said to the boys.
“It’s a good show,” they said as they clicked it on. “Watch and you’ll see.”
We watched a couple of episodes together as we ate some Chinese food we had had delivered.
Around midnight we went to bed and, in the bedroom, Lo removed her tight red dress revealing that all she had on under it was her bra.
“No panties?” I asked.
“I can’t take the chance of panty-lines in this dress — not with a room full of students watching my every move.”
“Don’t you think that that can be a bit distracting?”
“What do you mean?” she asked as she slipped out of her bra and stood naked, looking at herself in the mirror.
“You know what I mean. You’re just fishing for a compliment.”
She batted her eyelashes at me and asked, “Aren’t I just the sort of bait that would lure compliments?”
“That you are.”
“Well, what are you waiting for?”
“Don’t you think that the class will be studying your every curve if you wear dresses like that?”
“Let’s just say that a dress like that on a body like yours should be enough to distract anyone from their phones.”
“I have no idea what you mean,” she said disingenuously.
“Haven’t you ever read ‘The Scarlet Letter’?”
“Well, that’s The Scarlet Letter of dresses my dear.”
“So, you give my dress an ‘A’?”
“What do you think of me without my dress?”
“Can’t you tell?” I asked, displaying for her my member standing at attention.
“Though your sign language is easy enough to interpret, tell me. I like your words.”
“I think your breasts look pretty and perky.”
“Go on,” she said as she pulled and twisted her nipples, running her fingers over them to make them even more erect.
“And your shoulders are incredibly strong and sexy.”
This went on for some time with me complimenting the small of her back, her smooth legs, her elegant feet. Then she said, “You haven’t even mentioned my butt. I mean, even I want my butt. If I could be with me, I would fuck my butt.”
Finally she got into bed and said, “Don’t you want to fuck my butt?”
“That I do!”
I got behind her as she was on all fours and she licked her finger and ran it round her special spot as if pointing out the target. “Go ahead, Daddio, but be slow and gentle.”
As I began to penetrate her, she moaned aloud.
“Lo, shhhh. We have guests.”
I ran it in deeper. She moaned louder and said, “Gentle!”
“Right. Now Shhhh.”
I lodged myself deep inside her extremely tight spot and she said, “Stay right there. Does it feel good?”
“Good. Now let me do the work.”
I remained still as she lunged forward and back, slowly at first, but increasing in speed like a locomotive beginning to pull away from the station.
“You know, Lo,” I whispered, “I have a distinct image in my mind.”
“And what’s that?” she said as she was slowly churning away.
“Those two boys sitting in the front row of your class, showing each other the texts on their phones that you told us about. . .”
“I like to think that they found your photos on the internet and now they’re looking at them as you teach.”
“RED!” she said, referring to our fantasy rule of The Raunchy Game. Red means, nope, you just crossed a line. “That’s my worst nightmare,” she said, “stop right there.”
Despite her words, I could feel her orgasm beginning to surface. Not wanting to lose the moment, I said, “Well, I can also imagine them sitting in the front row surreptitiously taking your picture with their phones or their computers or something and then saving the pics for later and jacking off to them in their dorm room.”
Lo was coaxing the orgasm and sliding on-and-off my cock, forward-and-back. “Yessss,” she moaned. “Do you think they jack off to the pics together?”
“I wouldn’t doubt it,” I said. “I bet they do it every night after class.”
“My picture’s worth a thousand orgasms,” she said as she came, quite loudly.
When she was done, the two of us were lying on our backs looking up into the darkness of the room. “Can I ask you a weird question?” I asked.
“I love your weird questions.”
“When we were watching ‘Gilmore Girls’ tonight, did you sense something odd about it?”
“Besides the fact that it’s always Friday, the town has five people that live in it, Emily and Richard Gilmore are cliché cutouts of ‘rich people’ and that every problem on the show is a privileged white-person problem?”
“Yeah, besides all that.”
“Well, Rory has these two boyfriends, Jess and Dean, and what are they? — sixteen, seventeen?”
“I guess,” she answered, lying on her back, her eyes closed.
“And each of them keeps ending up in scenes alone with her mother, Lorelai, who’s all of thirty-two.”
“What are you saying?” Lo asked, her fingers clearly moving up and down under the covers between her legs.
“I’m saying that I think there’s some subtext going on.”
“Fuck me and tell me,” she insisted, spreading her legs as she lay on her back.
I got between her wet thighs and entered her. I held her tightly and whispered, “Lorelai was a MILF before that term was invented.”
Never one to miss an opportunity to correct me, she said, “Darling, I think MILF was invented then. You just hadn’t heard about it until much later.”
“Whatever,” I said, “the point is, that’s exactly what she’s supposed to be and then these strapping young men have all these one-on-one scenes with her in the house, alone. Don’t you think they’re suggesting something?”
“I’d like to see that play out,” she said as her breath quickened. “When I reach my thirties, I hope I’m a MILF.”
“Darling, you don’t have kids and you’re already a NILF. A nymphomaniac that I’d. . .”
“Do you think that’s how they see me?” she asked, ambiguous as to whom she meant, but it didn’t matter, she was already cumming.
Successful in my duty, I gave myself permission to climax with her, but, sensing my imminent orgasm, she said, “No! Don’t cum!” She insisted that I save it just as I was about to reach the pinnacle of my performance.
I kept on keeping on in her.
“I said no!” she yelled, pulling her body away.
“What the fuck?!” I said in an angry whisper, very frustrated, very aggrieved. Whereas I am frequently all for edging, keeping my Chi to myself, sometimes I need a release and releasing in Lo is the best release.
I turned over, lay flat on my back on the bed, tried to catch my breath as Lo, who had already cum twice, grabbed my member, licked it clean, and then kissed her way up to my mouth.
“Why can’t I cum?” I asked.
“Don’t you know by now?”
“I like you to stay hard because you never know when I’m going to need your dick again.”
“Oh, I know all right.”
“Yes. You always need it.”
“That’s true. So, keep it cocked and ready so that it is fully loaded at a moment’s notice.”
Sure enough, she needed it again later that night. She woke me from a sound sleep as she was watching some MILF porn on her phone.
[From the blog: mysexlifewithlola.com]